catatonic dancing

Went clubbing over the weekend at eastwood, libis, that great yonder I haven’t seen in a couple of years and was surprised to see some call centers fully erected and the midnight tiangge gone (yes, there used to be one -- it was that long ago).

After giving in to my donuts craving, (PMS—dang!), my friends and I went to this disco-bar-whatever called blue onion and was quite surprised at the clubbing culture this side of the city. First, you had to pick your drink at the “mini-bar” right at the doorstep before you’re granted entry. I’m not sure if this is common protocol among other bars, I am not well-schooled at the bar-hopping scene since the coffee culture was aggressively introduced in manila. Then you pay (quite awkwardly right there at the doorstep) in cash (there’s no cover charge, just order at least one drink). Then have yourself frisked by security before you’re good to go.

Inside, it was seemingly confusing whether the place was a bar or a disco or a sit-down pulutan posh place. The interior was nice, but, eff it, where is the dance floor? For a place that mixed live music and played it raucously loud to carry a conversation, there’s not much to do but nurse your drink, be bored by watching other people be equally bored to death, be an anti-social and tinker with your cell phone (practically every table had at least one person doing this), watch HBO on mounted tv sets (that night it was the 90s witch teen drama “the craft”) or simply dance on your seat. That loud music was such a waste, knowing typical pinoy culture these people were just too self-conscious to get up and dance (myself included), save for a group of ladies who were brazenly shaking their booties. I realize this ain’t Havana (no, not in cuba, Antonio. havana in malate – tee hee) where everybody boldly danced without a care in the world (myself included).

About half-way into my drink, a group of young boys and girls came in and took a table near the back of the room. Somebody please update me – what is the legal age these days – fourteen??!! Egad, I could swear these kids could well be my kids from teenage pregnancy. Where are their parents and who’s paying for their drinks, aber?

No matter. I may have been the oldest female at that bar that night but it’s nice to know some things didn’t really change much. At the ladies’ room, there would always be one or two girls who will be perpetually worshipping themselves in the mirror and give you the eye that would say “I’m pur’tier than you!” And there would always be another one who would never be able to hold her drink and throw up at the other cubicle or on the sink. And it wasn’t me. Hah! Cool, I downed my vodka ice without tipping over or pulling someone’s hair. There is justice in this world: alcohol tolerance is directly proportional to age.

By midnight, my friends and I made a toast to our beloved friend Pete who passed away last year and whose birth date incidentally fell on that early Sunday morning.